


There's No Such Thing as a Curse

by carolej126, TeriH



Series: The Curse [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 13:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18621961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolej126/pseuds/carolej126, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeriH/pseuds/TeriH
Summary: Originally published in Magnificent Haunts #1 (Neon RainBow Press, 2010)Written by the Mod Squad (otherwise known as Brigitta, Carole, and Teri).The curse strikes again.





	There's No Such Thing as a Curse

_The drums beat a rhythmic cadence and the moccasin clad feet kept time as the shaman whirled and twisted around the fire, the rattlesnake tail rattle in his hand keeping a counter beat.  He watched in fascination as the shaman dropped the rattle and it was transformed into a defensively coiled snake, rattling ominously.  The venomous serpent suddenly struck, the pointed fangs closing on his throat…._

_Larabee sat up with a start, grabbed his gun and turned, prepared to pull the trigger… before falling out of bed and onto the hard wooden floor with a resounding thud.  The revolver went off, striking the ceiling and showering the renowned gunfighter in plaster dust.  “Ah, Hell.”_

 

**Part 1**

The door to Larabee’s room crashed open and Chris twisted from his position on the floor.  His gun seemed to automatically take aim at the intruder and much to the gunslinger’s surprise discharged yet again, the bullet embedding in the framework next to Buck Wilmington’s head.  “Whoa there, Stud.Easy now, it’s just ol’ Buck.”

Chris looked with stunned silence from his long time friend to the smoking gun in his hand as Wilmington entered the room.  Buck reached over and removed the Colt from Chris's grasp.  "Best let me have that now, you okay?"

A ruckus in the hallway caught the men's attention as JD appeared in the doorway.  "I thought I heard gunfire."

Buck moved toward the door noticing a crowd starting to collect in the hallway. "Everything's fine, folks.  Nothing to worry about.  Just go back to what you were doing. JD, get this hall cleared out then go get Nathan," Wilmington requested, then swung the door shut before JD could reply.

"No need to bother Nathan," Chris muttered as he rose to his feet and finally took a good look at his friend and smiled.  Buck stood before him wearing nothing but his red union suit and gun belt.

“Wouldn’t laugh if I were you, be glad I was getting dressed or some of the fine ladies might be blushing by now.”

Chris grabbed his shirt off the lone chair in the room and slipped first one arm then the other into the sleeves.  Nimble fingers quickly fastened the buttons running up the front of the shirt only to have the last button pop off into his hand.  With a muffled curse Chris removed the offending shirt and went to the closet, retrieved a fresh garment and quickly donned it.  He stepped next into skintight denim trousers and tucked his shirt in before reaching for the boots sitting beside the bed.  As he leaned over a ripping sound could be heard.   The cool draft he felt had the gunman shimmying out of the trousers and returning once again to the small closet.

Buck cleared his throat in an effort not to laugh at the antics of his friend and was given a dose of the Larabee glare for his effort.

Sitting down on the bed, Chris pulled on his socks only to find a toe peeking from a hole in the offending footwear.  A stoic Larabee yanked on his boots then grabbed his gun belt off the side table and quickly buckled it in place.  He moved to the dresser to retrieve his hat when without warning his right foot slipped out from under him.  Only with quick reflexes and much wind-milling of his arms was he able to remain on his feet.

Buck leaned over and retrieved a small item, held it up, and with a smirk exclaimed, “Button.”

Chris donned his hat with more force than necessary and held out his hand in an unspoken request for his revolver which Buck still held.

“Don’t think so, Pard.  Not until Nathan looks you over at the least.”

As if on cue a knock was heard.  Buck opened the door and allowed Nathan to step in as he slipped out into the hall where JD waited.

“Buck, is Chris alright?”

“If he was smart he’d just head back to bed, but being the stubborn cuss he is, I reckon it’s gonna be a long day.”

 ~~~~~~~~~

Vin watched as Ezra exited the bathhouse and headed down the boardwalk, to where the others had gathered outside of the saloon.  He was occupied with the task of resetting the arm rig which held his derringer hidden within his sleeve.  It was well known among the locals but had proven its worth time and time again. 

"Hey Ez, isn't it a little early for you to be up and about, or did you have a snake dream like ol' Chris here?" Wilmington asked with enough glee that he earned a glare from Larabee. 

"A Standish nevah dreams," Ezra said, affronted as he brushed imaginary dirt from his shirt cuff only to have the derringer reappear with a *click*. 

"Ah, come on, Ez, everyone dreams," JD said, astonished. 

"Nevah!" Ezra reaffirmed as he snapped the little gun into place.

"Well somethin' got ya up early, Ez. Is that you, smellin' so sweet?"  Vin's eyes sparkled with mirth as he saw Standish flinch.

"As it happens, upon her last visit, Mutha left a bottle of expensive French perfume on mah dressing table.  Upon being rudely awoken by gunfire this morning, ah reached for mah pistol only to have the bottle spill all over mah rig and person.  Ah had hoped mah trip to the bathhouse had removed the stench." 

"So you cut your finger on glass from the broken bottle?" Nathan asked, noticing the red tinged cloth wrapped around the man's trigger finger.  "Maybe I'd best look at it." 

"That will be unnecessary, Mr. Jackson.  It was the result of a simple accident during my morning ritual." 

"Ez, how'd ya cut your finger shaving?"  Vin realized that the miscellaneous mishaps were far more entertaining when he was not on the receiving end. 

"Mr. Tanner, you might have noticed that while shaving the finger is in close proximity to the face."  *click*  Ezra demonstrated by raising the injured digit only to have his derringer pop into his hand.  With a muttered curse he once again reset the rigging. 

"It's the dream," JD exclaimed.  "It's just like what happened to Vin yesterday." 

"What happened to Vin was a series of unfortunate events, it had nothing to do with a dream or supposed curse.  There’s no such thing as a curse.  If by chance, Chris drempt about a snake it was merely due to Vin recounting his dream.   A Standish would nevah….” 

Ezra's words were cut short as his boot caught on a loose board and he tumbled into Larabee knocking them both off the boardwalk and into the street. 

Laughter rang out as the other five regulators looked at their two friends sitting in the dusty street.  "I think it might be wise to give our brothers wide berth today," Josiah chuckled, taking a step back as if to distance himself from the unlucky pair.

*click* 

Ezra looked down at the little derringer that had once again made itself known.  "Ah, the indignity."

 

 ** Part 2 ** 

Chris shot Ezra a look of utter disgust diluted only by annoyance and anger.

“Mr. Larabee, forgive this mishap.”

Chris snorted, rolled onto his hands and knees and started to climb to his feet.  He froze at the sound of tearing material. 

Ezra glanced sideways.  “Mr. Larabee, it would appear you have torn the seat of your...”

“Shut-up, Standish,” Chris growled, rising.

“If you continue at this rate, Stud, you won’t have any trousers left by the end of the day,” Buck chuckled. 

Chris gave Buck a look that would send other men running in the opposite direction.  Buck beamed.

As Ezra rose to his feet, he noted the morning sun starting its rise into the sky.  Standish squinted at it, realizing it had been quite some time since he’d seen the event.  Normally he was tucked away in bed sleeping off an eventful evening.  The evening had indeed been eventful, both before he went to sleep and after. 

The resident cardsharp tuned out his companion’s twaddle about curses and forced the derringer back into his sleeve.  The images that had filled his mind while he slept danced in his head.  Vin had described his dream in detail and as a result, Ezra had simply... recounted it in his sleep.  He hadn’t actually dreamt it himself.  He _hadn’t_.  The morning’s proceedings had merely been unfortunate and had they happened any other day he wouldn’t have given them a second thought.  All the talk of curses was mildly disconcerting and now the expectation of bad luck was acting as a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

Squaring his shoulders, Ezra determined to break the cycle.  He didn’t believe in curses.  He hadn’t actually dreamed.  This morning’s events had simply been innocent unconnected accidents.

Chris strode toward the boarding house, his hat placed strategically as he passed some ladies.

With a smile of amusement Ezra set off too.  “I have some business to attend to, gentlemen, so I will take my leave.”

“Ezra, be careful.”

“Mr. Dunne, I am the definition of vigilance.”

He heard Vin mutter, “I better keep an eye on him.  Buck?"

“I’ll ride shotgun on Chris.”

Ezra shook his head and continued as Vin appeared at his shoulder.  “Mr. Tanner, this is unnecessary.  There is no curse.   A few unrelated events and everyone is looking for a supernatural explanation.”

Vin grunted in a way only he could.

Ezra turned into the alley between the saloon and bathhouse.  At the last moment, he spotted a huge puddle of water and nimbly sidestepped it, a smirk of triumph lighting his face.  The curse was broken.  It had just taken some positive thinking... not that there had been a curse in the first place.  Unfortunately his coup was short lived because as a result of evading the puddle, he crashed into a ladder set up against the wall.  Bouncing off it, he collided with a stack of crates. 

“Look out!” Vin roared.

Ezra looked up.  Perched precariously at the top of the swaying tower was a tin of paint.  Vin shoved Ezra to the right to safety.  The paint tin rocked and then toppled, paint exploding toward Vin.

“Vin!” 

The paint arced mid-air, inexplicably changing course.  Instinctively Ezra shut his eyes just before his upturned face was splattered.  The tin, as if guided by an unseen hand, landed snugly on the Southerner’s head.  For a split second everything went dark and then the tin was unceremoniously wrenched from his skull, almost tearing his ears off.

“Owwww!”

“You okay?” 

Very slowly Ezra wiped the paint from his eyes...nose... and mouth, drew in a deep breath and blinked wide. 

“Ez?”  Vin took shape in front of him, a kerchief in his hand.  Unprompted, Vin began mopping Ezra’s face like a parent would a child who had spread food over it.

“Mr. Tanner, please!”  Ezra snatched the piece of material, looked down at his reflection in the puddle he’d successfully side-stepped, and prepared to complete the job Vin had started, but what he saw froze the blood in his veins.  Filled with dread, he lowered his wide-eyed gaze to his red jacket.  His lucky red jacket was ruined!  Gaping, he looked sideways at Vin, who was standing studying him in serious contemplation, head tilted to the side.

“Don’t reckon that’ll come out.  Gonna have to scrub to get it off your skin too.”

Ezra opened his mouth to comment but a gust of wind caught a fly buzzing by and blew it directly between Ezra’s parted teeth.

~~~~~~

Vin worked hard to keep the smile in his heart from his lips.  _No such thing as a curse, huh?_ His friend looked not unlike a white-faced clown Vin had seen in a circus.

Abruptly, Ezra began making gurgling sounds and clutched at his throat. 

The smile left Vin’s face.  “Ezra?... What?  Did paint get in your mouth... are you choking?”  Vin thumped Ezra on the back once... twice...and something small and black flew from his friend’s mouth.  Ezra gasped and coughed.  “You okay?”

“Yes... _cough..._ thank you.”  His face twisted with horror.  The pair stared down at the stunned fly trying to turn itself over.  “Oh, God.”

“He’s a lucky little tyke.  Almost ended up... Ez?  Where are you going?”

“If anyone is looking for me, they shall find me bathing... and no, I still don’t believe there is any such thing as a curse, Mr. Tanner.”

“Ezra, wait up.  I...” 

Buck shot down the alley flustered.  “Vin, we’ve got a problem.  Chris changed his trousers and while I was assisting Miss Lilly with a hat box, he took off.  Just saw him ride out of here like the hounds of hell were after him.  Don’t know where he’s headed.”

“I’ll track him.  Ezra’s just gone into the bathhouse.  Make sure he doesn’t drown himself.  Where are the others?”

“Keeping their distance.  They don’t want to ‘catch’ the curse.”

Vin smirked.  “Accordin’ to Ezra, there ain’t no such thing as a curse.”

“Agghhh!” The muffled cry came from inside the bathhouse.

Vin and Buck exchanged a grin before Vin headed off to track Chris and Buck to drag Ezra out of the tub he’d just fallen into fully clothed.

~~~~~~

The wind rustled the leaves overhead as Vin dismounted.  He rubbed Peso’s neck and loosely tossed the reins over a branch.  Pony shook his mane and Vin patted the animal’s rump before striding across to where Chris was seated on the bank of the creek. 

Without a word, Vin sat down next to his friend.  Chris acknowledged him with a grunt. 

“Ezra knocked some paint over himself and then choked on a fly.”

“A fly?” Chris asked, glancing sideways.

Vin nodded and grinned.  “Sounded like he fell in the tub too.”

“You’re enjoying this too damn much.”

Vin sighed.  “Not really.  Reckon we should try to work out who cursed us?”

“You really believe this is a curse?” Chris asked curiously.

Vin shrugged, picked up a piece of grass and placed it between his teeth for a few moments.  “Seen a lot I can’t explain.  Reckon there has to be a reason for what’s happenin’.  Your dream was exactly like mine?”

Chris exhaled slowly and returned to watching the water.  “Yeah.”

Vin noted Chris’ fishing bag next to him and searched for his line.  He spotted it caught in the branch of the tree directly above them.

“Shut up, Vin.”

“Didn’t say a word...Hell of a cast though, Cowboy.  Want me to climb up there and cut it down?”

“No.” 

Vin lay back, lacing his hands behind his head.  He couldn’t blame Chris for his abrupt manner.  He’d lived this day from hell only yesterday.

“Buck’s keeping an eye on Ezra.”

“Good.”  Chris took two apples from the saddlebag beside him and handed one to Vin.

Vin took it and grinned.  Chris had known he’d come.  “Thanks.”  The pair became quiet, crunching on the fruit.  “It’s a sweet apple.”

“Mine’s not.  It tastes like...” Chris’ eyes grew wide. 

Vin rose up on his elbows and peered at his friend’s apple.  “Looks like the old saying’s right.  The only thing worse than finding a worm in an apple, is finding half a worm.”

Chris cursed and hurled the apple and its beheaded occupant into the fast moving stream.  As he did so, he knocked his saddlebag, which started to slide toward the water.  Chris dived full length after it, his fingers snagging it just before it toppled into the stream.  A sigh of relief echoed out of him.   “Looks like my luck’s changing.  For a moment I thought...”  As he attempted to pull himself up from his stomach, he slid on the slippery bank and before Vin could grab his ankle, Chris plunged face first into the water.

Vin burst out laughing as Chris sat up in the knee deep stream.  Passionate curses exploded from the man in black as water cascaded down his face.

Pointing at his friend’s hat which was being carried away, Vin choked out between gasps of amusement, “Your hat!”

Chris leapt to his feet and splashed after his cherished headpiece, but just before he reached it he dropped out of sight under the flowing water.

Vin gagged on his laughter and took two running steps toward the stream, but pulled up relieved when Chris surfaced with flailing arms and spitting water. 

The two men stared at each other.  Vin grinned.

“Shut up, Tanner.”  The gunfighter climbed from the hole to the knee deep water and snatched his hat, which had come to rest against some reeds.  With a roar of ‘unhappiness’ Chris stomped back toward Vin.

“Need a hand?” Vin asked helpfully.

Chris positioned his foot on the bank, placed his weight on it, but lost traction on the slippery grass.  He started to fall, righted himself and then slipped again, his arms windmilling viciously.  Vin grabbed one of his friend’s hands and dragged him out of the water.

Chris shoved the laughing Vin away and trudged toward his horse.  “We’re leaving.”

Vin nodded, took a deep breath and regained control.  The fact that Chris Larabee, well-known gunfighter whose very name scared the bravest of men, was trudging toward his horse with his hair plastered to his face and his clothes drenched was not funny... it was hilarious... but the time had come to be serious.

Chris slammed his hat on his head.  The brim was warped from its near escape and hung over the feared gunfighter’s ears.  He untied Pony and led the animal to the water’s edge to drink before starting the journey back to Four Corners.

Vin collected Peso and allowed him to drink.  Once Peso had had his fill, Vin mounted.

Chris did the same... or attempted to.  He placed his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself halfway onto the saddle when there was the all too familiar sound of tearing material.  Chris froze, his right leg just swinging over the saddle.  At that moment, the saddle strap gave away, Pony shied and Chris and his saddle tumbled into the creek with a huge splash.

With a long, patient sigh, Vin dismounted.

~~~~~~

Ezra sank into the warm water.  His muscles rippled as they relaxed.  He’d scrubbed, rubbed and scoured his face and hair without success until Nathan had delivered some concoction to add to his bath water.  “Just soak in it for about an hour and it should take the paint off your skin.”

Ezra glanced around his surroundings.  Since Widow Henderson had taken over the bathhouse, she had made some major changes.  There were now partitions between the baths for privacy.  Each cubicle was furnished with a chair, along with a small table beside the bath resplendent with tablecloth, dish of soap and vase of flowers.  Chris had been bemused by the changes, Vin had mumbled he would be bathing in the creek from now on, J.D. had been stunned, Josiah and Nathan had been indifferent and Buck had been appalled.  “It’s like a girl’s bathhouse!” 

Himself, Ezra felt it was a step in the right direction.  Geraldine Henderson also intended extending the bathhouse and work had already begun. 

“Is everything alright, Mr. Standish?” Widow Henderson called from the other side of the partition.

“All is well, thank you, Mrs. Henderson.” 

_Pop!_

Ezra cursed his derringer, which once again had released of its own accord.  It was still strapped to his arm.  A man could not afford to be totally ‘naked’ when he bathed.   After wiping his hand on the lacy tablecloth he reset the mechanism.

Ezra peered at the back of his hand and his eyes widened.  His skin was lavender.  Alarmed, he examined the rest of his body only to find he looked like a huge grape.

“NATHAN!” he bellowed, leaping up.

_Pop!_

A bullet discharged.  It hit the tub, ricocheted and struck the support holding the external wall in place – a wall that had been unbolted and was temporarily propped up ready for the pending extension. 

The wall groaned and then toppled outwards like a book opening.  It hit the ground sending a dust cloud into the air.  As the dust cleared, Ezra found himself standing in his birthday suit staring out into the street.

Buck stepped into view goggle-eyed, his mouth hanging open.

With speed rivalling any gunfighter and ability second to no magician, Ezra whipped the tablecloth off the table without disturbing the flowers or soap dish and tied it around himself all in one action.

At that moment, Vin and Chris rode across the opening.  The pair pulled up, both eyeing Ezra without discernable reaction.

Ezra sighed and reset his derringer as he stepped out of the bath.  “Just a minor mishap.”

J.D.’s hand darted around the edge of the wall, passing Buck Ezra’s jacket... which was no longer red.  “Josiah and I cleaned it for you but... well... sorry,” the young man declared before his hand was withdrawn and the sound of his boots hastily retreating echoed. 

Buck eyed the jacket and held it out toward Ezra, smiling like a Cheshire cat.  “Now that really is a pretty shade of pink.”

Ezra began making gurgling sounds.  “My...my lucky red jacket!”

“Now it is your lucky _pink_ jacket... and is it just me, or is Ezra’s skin purple?”

Vin eyed Ezra curiously and then glanced up at the sun which was almost overhead.  “At least we’re almost halfway, boys.”

Chris shifted in his saddle and without warning the saddle slid around Pony, Chris hanging on for dear life.  He came to a stop hanging upside down under his horse, peering up at the others from between Pony’s legs.

“This is one hell of a curse,” Vin commented, the corners of his lips rising.

Ezra pointed at his friend.  “Mr. Tanner, nothing in Heaven or on Earth can convince me that there... _Pop_... is any such thing as a curse!”

Vin glanced at Chris, who was struggling to free himself from the stirrups with Buck’s help, to the wall lying on the ground, to Ezra’s extended derringer, to the pink jacket, to Ezra’s purple skin and finally the tablecloth hiding Ezra’s modesty from the growing crowd.  “Ya reckon?”

 

**Part 3**

“Yes, I reckon,” Ezra mocked, hitching the tablecloth a little higher on his lavender-stained hips before turning and walking away with a decidedly ungentlemanly _huff_.

“Seems a mite perturbed,” Vin commented, watching as the gambler marched past the gaping crowd, down the street, and toward his room.

“Need a hand up, pard?” Buck asked, draping Ezra’s forgotten pink jacket over one arm as he extended his hand.

“No,” Chris barked, getting to his feet with a muffled groan.  He leaned forward to brush the dust from his knees only to freeze at the all-too-familiar sound of ripping material.

~~~~~~

“Smells good,” Vin said as he took a seat at one of the restaurant’s small tables.  Chris just grunted, claiming another chair.  The tracker couldn’t completely hide his grin when Larabee perched on the edge of the seat.

It was clear that the other man expected something, _anything,_ to happen.  Not that Vin could blame him, after the day he’d had so far.

“You gonna sit a spell?” Vin asked Ezra, who had remained on his feet.

“I have reason to doubt the wisdom of such a decision,” Ezra responded, eying both the restaurant and the chair warily.

“Curse can get ya anywhere.”

“Mr. Tanner, I repeat, there is no such thing as a-”  _*snick*_ Ezra sighed, pushing the small gun back into its normal position.

Vin shook his head.  “You just keep on believing that.”  He pushed a chair over with his foot in invitation, and after another moment of deliberation, Ezra took his seat.

“Bucklin, ya gonna join us?” Vin called to the ladies’ man.

“Mr. Wilmington, much as I hate to admit it, seems to have retained some measure of self-preservation.”  Ezra looked around pointedly.  “As have the remaining members of our merry band.” 

Buck laughed, but he made no move to join his friends, obviously preferring to keep his distance as well as enjoy his currently unobstructed view of the lovely Miss Gail, who was busily serving patrons.

A late lunch was ordered without incident, and Vin found himself relaxing into his chair.  Of course, he reflected, the curse _had_ found two new targets and he now seemed free of its effects.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about the other two men at the table.   

“Here you are, gentlemen.” 

Chris straightened in his chair, anticipating the arrival of his meal.  Next to him, Vin’s eyes widened as he saw the catastrophe in the making.

Miss Gail, carrying the fully loaded tray, and intent on her customers, was suddenly forced to sidestep another customer, who had just finished his meal and pushed his chair back.  The young woman tried to dodge to the side, but as she did, she lost her grip on the tray.

Steak, potatoes, green beans, and peach pie left their positions and headed skyward.  Vin held his breath as, for a minute, time seemed to stand still, and then, food came raining down.

Ezra, the sudden recipient of a lapful of food, could only blink in astonishment.  And Chris, his expression one of horror, could only watch as the peach pie unerringly descended toward him.  And landed directly in his face.

Silence filled the room.  Buck was on his feet, his mouth open in disbelief.  Miss Gail, having retreated across the room, was twisting her hands in dismay.  And Vin…

Tanner reached over with one finger, swiped a scoop of peach pie from Chris’s chin, and placed it in his mouth.  “Mighty fine peach pie.”

“Shut up, Tanner,” Chris growled, wiping the pie from his eyes with the back of one hand.

~~~~~~

Vin smiled as Chris turned another page in the book he was studiously reading.  The man had been there, sitting in a chair on the boardwalk outside the saloon, for several hours, ever since changing his clothes for what had to be the fourth or fifth time that day, and finally enjoying an event-free lunch.

Larabee was wearing the poncho Josiah had given him.  Vin chuckled to himself, thinking that the man was providing himself with a bit of extra coverage in case his current pair of trousers was, in some way, damaged.

The breeze picked up again and Chris didn’t miss a beat, automatically thumbing through the book when the sudden wind ruffled through the pages and caused him to lose his place.  Vin supposed that, since he’d already done it a number of times, Chris didn’t even take note of his actions.  Or the fact that the fast moving current of air only seemed to be affecting him.

Vin could just barely see Ezra over the top of the saloon’s batwing doors.  The gambler, sitting by himself at a table against the wall, had his hat pulled down low. 

Solitaire seemed to be his choice of card games for the night.  Over and over he shuffled the cards, only to watch them fly out of his hands.

“Kinda looks like a rainbow,” Vin mused, slouching against a nearby wooden post.  

“What’s that?” Chris asked without looking up from his book.

Vin shrugged.  “Ezra.”

Chris looked up at that.  “Still can’t hold onto his cards?”

“Nope.” 

“Anyone else playing?”

“Nope.”

Chris shook his head.  “Can’t blame them.  You never know when that curse’ll decide to move on.”

“Yep.”

_*snick*_

_*snick*_

“He still fussing with that derringer?”

“Yep.”  Vin looked around the town.  The street fires had been lit, and the moon was peeking out from between the clouds.  “Reckon it’s safe to get a drink yet?”

“Probably not,” Chris sighed.  He waited a beat, watching as the wind once again moved the pages of his book - and nothing else – then got to his feet.  He pushed the saloon doors open, heading for the peacekeepers’ usual table.

The crowd inside parted before him.  Chris just kept going, Vin behind him. 

Inez had a bottle on the table before the two men could settle in, a blend of sympathy and amusement on her face. 

“I’ll do that,” Vin offered, taking the bottle before Chris could reach for it.  He quickly filled two glasses and raised his own to his mouth. 

Chris followed suit, and as he started to take a sip of the whiskey, his chair collapsed underneath him.  He landed on his backside, still holding the glass in his hand.  

“Nice save.” 

With a defiant gesture, Chris raised the glass to his mouth and tossed back the liquor.  At that moment, the table buckled and fell, Vin barely managing to grab the bottle in time.  Across the room, Ezra’s cards once again took flight.

“Think I’ll call it a night.”

“Don’t blame ya, Cowboy.”

As Chris got to his feet, Vin stood, only to be joined by Ezra. 

_*snick*_

Ezra sighed.  “I, too, find it prudent to retire to my room at this juncture.” 

“Pleasant dreams,” Vin said, his mouth twisting in a smirk, and earning himself a glare from both men.

~~~~~~

The drums beat a rhythmic cadence and the moccasin clad feet kept time as the shaman whirled and twisted around the fire, the rattlesnake tail rattle in his hand keeping a counter beat.  He watched in fascination as the shaman dropped the rattle and it was transformed into a defensively coiled snake, rattling ominously.  The venomous serpent suddenly struck, the pointed fangs closing on his throat….

Simultaneously, in several different locations, three men sat bolt upright and moaned, “Ah, hell.”

 


End file.
